


A Week In Paradise

by allgoodinthebluehood



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: F/F, FTM, Gets better don't worry, Gets real, M/M, Schizophrenia, So nerdy, Trans Character, abusive, disorder, tw: depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5034130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allgoodinthebluehood/pseuds/allgoodinthebluehood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You love life.</p><p>And by love life you mean you absolutely hate it.</p><p>Your brother has disowned you, you live with your ex, which is really awkward, and people still can't get the hang of you being a dude.</p><p>Also you have schizophrenia.</p><p>But all of that changes, besides your disorder (duh), when your ex boyfriend enters you on a sweepstake and you end up winning a sight seeing tour of Asia, including Thailand, China, Japan, Philippines, Taiwan and Korea, including concert with a new group that has a bright eyed member.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna physically pain me to write davekat. But they broke up so that heals the wound. 
> 
> It's gonna be really weird to just write an au based on an actual book I'm writing (trust me, my writings way better than the shit I put out). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 

_Schizophrenia-noun; a type of disorder that causes illusions, voices, and loss of concentration, making it hard on your mind to focus on anything._

_Voices. Sounds. Illusions. Things you'll never grow accustomed to._

_Everything is talking to you and if it isn't you are talking to them._

_Not that you can really say you absolutely hate it. On a scale of it's fine to what the actual fuck it lies right around the okay area, which to you is sort of in the middle but not quite._

_People say you're weird, not responding to them when they ask something. Pausing mid sentence cause you keep seeing that dreaded crow. Or just ignoring them all together. It's hard to keep friends. But you manage. After all it isn't like these mental assholes leave you alone._

_There are some other images in your mind but that crow keeps popping up one way or another. And you have no clue as to why you were born with it._

_You've kept shut about your disorder. And if you do leak out some information, you don't throw in the scoop on your eyes. It'll just make the situation worse. You remember you learned that the hard way back in middle school._

_Every passing day is a chore, not to mention the crow never leaves you alone. (You'll never stop mentioning it. If it ever leaves you alone, it might stop. But until then, it plagues your nightmares.)_

_Sure, disembodied voices occur, not to be heard from again. But this one. It never leaves your peripheral vision. Like it's stuck. Sometimes it can talk. Though most of the time it chooses to stay shut to your relief._

_Maybe you'll never get over this, this spiraling wonderland of confusion and lack of control. You've gotten used to it. And it's gotten used to you._

_It'll scream._

_And it'll scream for you._

 

My eyes travel a flower pot. It has red flowers coming out of it, what I assume are just common red lilies I see literally everywhere, and go back to zoning in and out of the one sided conversation I am currently in. They seem to be fine with me paying attention and I silently agree on that. 

Paintings with weird symbols, some sunsets and ink blots are spread around the walls which is normal for most offices. My half-sister would agree. She studies psychology and probably knows the meanings behind these stupid pictures. 

A bowl of mints on the table, a painting of trees on the back and a pack of cards sit on her table. The last part strikes me as odd but it isn't a big deal. 

The crow peeks from the potted plant, not moving but blinking at me, waiting for my next move. _Suck it little birdie. You can't get me now._

And I said that aloud. 

I mentally facepalm. As if on que, the woman perks up, blue-black eyes staring at me, eyeing me suspiciously. I pray to Lord Almighty that she doesn't think anything if it.

But they have to do their job so they pull me back in. 

"Strider, are you, in any way trying to get better?" Ms. Serket says, lightly tapping her blue glossed fingernails on the notepad in front of you. 

I shrug. "Depends on what you say is better. Haven't been gaying it up lately so I guess so."

She sighs, giving me a look. Not an abnormal reaction. "I know it's hard to get the devil out of you."  _Like I haven't heard that before._ "But that is no excuse to not to actually try becoming normal!"

 Everytime. Texas was full of homophobic assholes, being part of a conservative past in the south. Still, like a dull blade, it still hurts. Not that much but it just does.

When I was younger, school sucked ass. Faggot, Dyke, dick rider, you name it. They'd never stop saying that which bothered me to no end. Thankfully, I trained myself to keep the pokerface so they couldn't see they got to me. Some backed off, some just couldn't care about their own shit. 

Rose, my half-sister, has been an absolute pain in the ass for all my life but she's the one who actually accepts who I am and doesn't shun me for it. Being a bit younger she hadn't caught up with the lgbt lingo so she had to learn a bit just to get the concept. Rose actually studied so much that she knew more than me about the subject after a few days. She's like a sponge, always soaking up weird information.

I'd never tell her but I appreciate what she did for me. If I ever did tell her, Rose's eyebrows would never stay put and so would her unnerving smirk. 

No one knows she's a secret lesbian. Not even our legal guardian. 

Now to be clear not every psychologist was this rude. Many have been unkind and idiotic but one was at least a little nicer than the rest. But that's a story I can tell later, when the time comes. For now, let's focus on the one trying to get your attention. 

The crow stands on the potted plant, right behind the leaves. It begs for my attention, whispering something you don't quite make out. 

"So, Dove–",  _Dave,_ "–you do know that you haven't made any progress into getting better?" 

I fiddle with my hoodie strings, watching as the headless man appears through the window, opposite of where the damned bird is. 

The man leaves but not before a head appears, imprinting a bloody mark. This makes me a bit uncomfortable and I don't know why. 

I take another look at the woman. Ugly with a sickly sweet voice. If she took the time to actually improve her makeup skills she might've looked decent. She clearly didn't take the time causing her eye shadow, lipstick, and mascara to almost mix together, the blush being a bridge to make that possible. 

And to make her even uglier, her personality stinks. I feel bad for her classmates–friends, even if they actually put up with her–in her university. Hell, with this kind of act, I'm surprised she even graduated with a degree to get this gig. 

I let a dry laugh, just to humour her. "What if I don't want to get better, hm? Maybe I like what I am and I'll just let it consume me. How bout' that?" She gives you a solid glare which I return with a small smirk. 

It isn't my fault she chose me as her client. 

But it's my fault for not even going against Bro when he signed me up for this shit. 

Speaking of Bro, it's 3:58. He usually picks me up at 4:00 sharp to impress the people there. And no matter how many times he does it, he still surprises people. And to be honest it surprises me too.

His personality is shit but he can charm almost half the people in this facility, guys and gals. They don't even know he runs a fucking porn site right under their noses. No wonder no one's called Child Services when I was younger. 

The clock ticks to every second, to my annoyance. Yes, I know what time it is. Along with me raging queer and having a disability that landed me in this joint, I also have a wonderful sense of time. Never known where I've gotten it but it came from somewhere. 

Yet I still ironically buy watches. 

My bro pulls up the driveway, the processed-cheese orange hue pick up parking terribly into a spot. Fun fact, my bro almost didn't pass the parking test. Be warned people who ride with him. It's always interesting to see people dodge the truck from hell on the road. 

"Dove,–",  _Dave,_ "–do you really want to come here?" 

Bro comes into the room, saying "Heyyyyy", and I look straight into the lady's eyes (as if she's a lady). "I don't give a fuck." Her eyes go wide and she flushes with anger, astonished, but not that much since she knows my attitude, and keeps talking to my brother. 

The sun dips into the horizen, leaving a beautiful, almost breathtaking, sunset. The sun is bright red, saying it will thunder tomorrow, and the clouds are tinted with a pink and orange hue. 

I take a breath of fresh air and keep looking  at the clouds. The crow makes its way to my shoulder, not saying or doing anything. I find that I don't mind its presence. And for a few seconds, my head feels clear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to go into some deep shit to learn about schizophrenia so I am sorry if I am a bit inaccurate! Please tell me if I am.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave's life starts going downhill, unexpectedly ending with a sort of happy note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other chapter was really short because I typed it on my phone so here's a hopefully longer one!

Bro finally exits the office with a passive aggressive stride, pun definitely intended, giving me the same look my therapist gave me when I told her off. If he's gonna scold me for it, I'll just sass him with a good comeback. After all, he did teach me unintentionally with his hurtful backlashes. Again, mental abuser.

Both of us enter his pick up truck, waiting for one to say something. When I don't, he grunts, clearly tired of putting up with my annoying bullshit. His leather gloved hands grasp the steering wheel, his head on it, filling the room with a groan that could be considered pitiful if they didn't see it from your perspective. Bro raises his hand and I wait for the blow. Surprisingly and thankfully, he doesn't smack me in the face like usual.

As he starts up the car and gets on the road, moments that lead up to this day come to me. At the apartment he'd torment me like mad with a blade a bit shittier than mine but he always had the skill that'd freak me out, wiping out any condition that sword was in. Sweat would always coat him afterwards, cuts refusing to heal on his muscles, but they don't appear as much as mine, and a haunting blade that you've managed to get away from for a good month. That month has been liberating but the silver shine of another scary shard of metal doesn't stray too far from my mind. Nor have the bandages from the drawer. But does my guardian even care? No. Hell would start to freeze before he did that. 

Those strifes would start if they got into a disagreement, which was as often as you thought it would be, he'd order me up to the roof not caring if some homework needed to be done in order to pass a class. Fights first, he said. Who needs calculus when you're trying to defend yourself? To him it was good reasoning. To me it was a step farther from leaving.

The bruises that others saw, especially my neighbor's eyes, were said by my biological brother to be from football. I haven't played that sport since I was in middle school. Too preoccupied, I guess. "Who would think a person this handsome hurt their younger sibling? I praise them for even dealing with their conditions." Exact words. 

I look around the car to see a hidden Rose but no purple headband attached to blond bob. While I get head picked apart by another person interested in my life, my sister goes to this after school club with her secret girlfriend that involves sewing and books. No club could've been more fitting for her. Sometimes she'll be somewhere with a group of unknown friends, to which I suspected was a weird magic cult but was really just a group that wrote weird wizard porn. It's kind of creepy but I'm sort of glad I got the disability instead of her. She can keep some of her life together. Me on the other hand can't differentiate some voices from others when speaking. These voices have no chill.

There's a mailbox on the side I'm looking at isn't the familiar green, pink and blue of Ms. Paint's but a bland white default one with the red flip-thing up saying theres mail. I recognize their mailbox because they're one of the only families I can tolerate besides my sister that lives close. Also she makes great banana bread for a woman who used to be involved in the mafia. 

She tells a lot of stories.

 Bro turns from the usual lane and into an unknown neighborhood that I've never come across on. Sure, have I seen the road a couple of times? Yes. But have we been through this neck of the woods? Never. I think I would've felt a sense of control instead of nausea coming into this place.

He parks in front of a new building, and how I know it's new is because of it's condition. The mostly-glass building's front desk consists of a secretary holding an assortment of jolly ranchers, a man with white-ish hair and strangely black eyes, and other miscellaneous workers shift from one room to another in almost identical fashion. In his hands he holds a manila envelope with some papers in it that I'd bet were from the damn therapist.  

The one with the jolly ranchers approaches us, sporting red spectacles, a toothy smile- _are those things pointy-_ and has black lipstick, accentuating those razors. I wonder what circumstances you need to endure to have triangular teeth yet still have them stay pearly white in what looks like any situation. She juts out the dish in front of my face, smiling full blown in my face. 

"Take one. They're free anyway." Her voice has something almost high pitched about it, like she was on the verge of laughing overtime she spoke. The crinkle in her eyes looked like she was going to laugh. She looked at my brother and didn't flinch.

I peeked over to her side, her hand holding a tall cane, striped red, black and grey, the top with a dragon head with eyes as red as her 80s glasses. 'Must be blind' I thought. She doesn't show any sign, other than her eccentric cane, of her being blind. Weirdly, she doesn't miss a beat at where people are. ' _Terezi Pyrope'_ the name tag said. A weird name for a weird chick. I'd never pass up the opportunity to get free candy (you should see me on Halloween) so I take two apple flavored jolly ranchers and pocket them in my sweater. Bro looks at me for a moment before deciding that isn't what he should be worrying about. People continue to go in and out while Terezi spits out something I should probably be listening to. And I do.

"Dr. Scratch has been expecting you. He's in that room, the one labeled 'Room 206'. Probably sitting in his favorite office chair. " Her red-painted index finger points to the room, (it creeps me out how she can navigate so fluidly) and waves him off to talk to another client about something with "new home". He heads straight toward Room 206 and we see Dr. Scratch sitting in a leather chair just like the lady said he would be. 

How I would describe the office is if the world was only grass, never water. Some candies lie in a bowl but their not jolly ranchers. They seem to be-what are they called-scottie dogs? They don't sell those at Walgreens. I refrain from taking one just yet, not trusting the contents. They might be black licorice or black tar for all I know. Unless the doctor eats them and lives, I'm not eating it. Well, ok, maybe that was a little too over dramatic for a piece of candy. 

Dr. Scratch, weird name, wears a pristine lab coat with a bright green button up that almost matches the shade of the walls, black frames that outline his weird, almost  _void,_ black eyes, and has extremely white, to the point of silver, hair which makes him look like a scientist who invented the time machine. As we enter, he stands a bit straighter, his eyes and shoulders nudging toward the bowl of scottie dogs. Bro holds up a hand and I shake my head. The jolly ranchers seem a bit heavier.   

"So you want...Yes, your sister can..." My ears don't exactly pick up on the words they say but Bro seems to nod mutely in response to the Doc's words. Doc Scratch. It suits him more than Dr. Scratch. Suddenly a crow pops up from the corner, goes up to the Doc's hair and picks at it making a nest with a hair substitute instead of twigs. For a brief moment it looks at me then goes back to making him bald.   

"Dove." My head eyes move from the crow to the doctor. I resist clenching my fists in the name; he doesn't know after all.

I give him a shaded glare. Not that he can see it. That's kind of the point.

"What?"

His gaze leaves mine and follows Bro's. "Your guardian has something to tell you." Scratch nods at him, to which my brother sighs. Then orange eyes look straight into my own red ones, as if there were no shades covering my facial balls. Facial balls equaling eyes that is. 

"I know this might be hard on you-",  _Nothing equates to the physical and mental pain you induced on me,_ "But you're getting disowned. The files are here..." He waves the manila folder from earlier in my face but I don't hear anything after that. The lights have gotten brighter, sounds more clear and vague at the same time, and my brain saying "DOES NOT COMPUTE" in bright red letters.

I've thought of the big possibility that being disowned could happen. Though the way I pictured it was me calling Child Services and taking me and Rose away from the harsh hold of our horrible parental unit. Never thought Bro would beat us to it. 

Check and mate. The king was annihilated on my side-the good side-and the black team won. Not us. Not me. Him. He won. All the pons on my side were taken and the queen was taken out a long time. I am the white knight piece while Bro's the black king feigning mercy by getting it over with but his side is the one really prevailing. My defense was just a nasty obstacle that he flew past. 

And in those files I wonder if he included Rose. God, I hope he did. 

The crow regains the center of my attention and I tell it to shoo.  _Breathe. It isn't real. You can differentiate the bird's voice and the real worlds' voices right? Yeah, you can._  I have to admit that sometimes the exercises Ms. Aranea taught me helps.

With that stunning revelation of leaving my only family, I storm out for the second time today. 

"Ok, I guess with me not being part of this group, I can leave right?" The doctor opens his mouth but I'm already out the door.

The corridor is filled with workers but none of them are the ginger haired, toothy-smiling, blind woman. And none hold jolly ranchers in various flavors. I take out the ones I took and unwrap one. Popping it in my mouth, I walk out to take a real breath of fresh air.  _'Free air'_ I remind myself. Actual free, non-smoke filled, air. Not the heavy air that sets after a strife. Not the air of being imprisoned. Free air, the one where I know I'm not caged anymore. No strings attached.

The person who stands next to me as I lean against a wall of the building doesn't surprise me. It's Terezi, on her phone, no candy dish to hand to others, and also in casual clothes instead of her business uniform. It doesn't take me long to realize I was her last client before heading out. 

"Hey kid." She looks at me, again it is so freaky how she can see without actually seeing _oh my god_ , then throws a red jolly rancher up in the air and catches it with her mouth. Her phone vibrates and she types out a teal reply. It's pesterchum.

"You have a chumhandle?" 

She nods. "Yeah, it's gallowsCalibrator. Do you have one?" I nod back.

"What is it?" Terezi stuffs her phone into her cherry red pants, smiling at me.

I take out a red pen and scrap paper, scribble _turntechGodhead_ , and hand it to her. Her hands take out her phone for a second time, then adds my chumhandle to her friends. Another one I see seems familiar but it doesn't matter. A lot of people have similar colors for their text. That gray could be anyone's. 

"What's your name?" 

I raise an eyebrow of amusement and smirk. "First name basis already? Treat a lady right." Those black lips release a cackle so loud it might attract the attention of strangers. As my eyes graze the sidewalk, a woman on the phone gives us a side glance and then carries the discussion with her boss most likely.

We exchange our names, her's being obvious, tell each other some things about our lives, and I give her a nickname.

"TZ."

"Why TZ? Why not Terezi?"

"Because that's too long and weird."

"Well, ok, then. I'll just call you coolkid."

I shrug. "Works for me."

Pointy shades exit Room 206 and I sprint from the building, already knowing where I'll go. The bus stop, then the apartment. I wave two fingers to TZ and she returns with a smile. From there, I truly feel a bit happy for the first time in my life. Even as the crow follows me all the way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go Dave! Finally a friend in this sitch.  
> If I am inaccurate in any part please tell me! I did a lot of research for schizophrenia and disowning so I'm just writing what I read.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave packs up and goes off to his ex-boyfriend's to seek refuge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update!  
> I don't usually update this frequently but I did it because I had a day off today.  
> Enjoy!  
> (Sorry it's really short but I hope you like it!)

As I run, trees fly past me, cars with worried parents stare out the window, kids following in suite but with interest. A few wrong turns here and there but once I see the multi-colored mailbox I know I'm going the right way so my feet don't stop. Bro must be cursing himself for teaching me how to flash step. Minutes later the apartment is in view. I check my watch.  _4:37._ The appointment wasn't that long then. 

Grabbing my keys, I slam the front door behind me, not caring about the neighbors who talk in the hallway. My room looks as messy as I left it earlier and Rose isn't home. Yet a purple backpack lies on her bed, and on it is a note. A car horn startles me but when I look it's just a neighbor. Figures.

I take the envelope out then pause for a bit.  _If Rose was included in the file she wouldn't have wrote this. But how'd she find out and not tell me?_ The envelope tells me to open it and my hands tear it open. Bright purple text greets me in bittersweet reunion.

David,

You are most definitely reading this with a sense of confusion. You know, on how I managed to not get signed along with you for being disowned by our guardian, D Strider.  Allow me explain. 

As your sibling from our mom, she has custody over me. Brother cannot affect me but he can affect you. What I'm trying to say is that Mom will now have me as her daughter and 'D' isn't allowed to visit us unless he wants a charge against him. You, on the other hand, are free to visit anytime you wish. The only reason you aren't under her own roof right now is because somewhere in those papers it has you labeled as an 'adult' and that you are allowed to make the decision to live with us if you wish. I personally don't agree with that statement because in no way are you a full fledged adult but she has no custody over you otherwise.

I don't expect a reply in a short period of time but if you wish to live with us, our house is always an open option. 

Sincerely, Rosalinda

P.S. Mother wanted to give you something that I am a bit jealous of. But in your situation, you're gonna need it. 

 In the same envelope, I wonder how I didn't feel it earlier, a wad of cash in the form of twenties empties out of the letter and falls to the bed. After briefly counting, then giving up because no on has time for that, it comes up to about $500. Mom was always loaded. 

I keep the money in my wallet, stuffing it in my back pocket, then go on to the backpack. Her evil purple squiddle logo stays loosely stitched on the front, with buttons of her favorite wizards and Kanaya (I'm not surprised; those are two things she's in love with afterall). It looks very different from my usual red messenger bag but I'll take it. Her bag smells of perfume while mine smells like teen angst. I could get used to the change. And it's the only thing I have of her (besides the money and that will be out of my hands very soon). 

The zipper is open and I take a peek through it to see what she put in there. Some clothes, my black and red polaroid and a charger.  She knows that you like to pack more, surprisingly she is almost never prepared in physical situations that don't involve emotions, so I grab my suitcase. Since she packed some of the essentials, my pile just adds on to the mix. More clothes, headphones, toothbrush, toothpaste, gel, a beanie, my phone and some other junk that I've grown close too. 

When I was younger, I knew that someday the bills would't be paid because of Bro's small puppet porn website and his unneeded state-of-the-art cameras that cost a fuck ton to use. So I had to be the smart one and got a job. Well, jobs, I should say. I enough to buy a cheap phone that worked but was no doubt an old model. Works until today so that says something. At least my one use of communication won't be taken away from me.

My first thought is to send a message to Rose to tell her I'm ok. Even though that's a good idea I choose to message her on the bus ride to the place I'm going to. The public transportation here has free wifi to my luck.

I zipper up the suitcase, strap the purple backpack to my back, and head out. I'm about to lock the door when I stop for a moment. The keys in my hand hold the entrance to a hell hole. _And I'm leaving that said hell_ _hole._  My mouth betrays my head and laughs, no, _cackles._ Just like Terezi. Haha. Releasing one more breath, I sprint down the steps, saying my silent as of these weeds can even hear me mocking them.

Little kids look at my suitcase with unused imagination as their mothers pull them away from the strange man. With the darkness shading my eyes, and the growing rebellion, I take off my shades and take it all in. The freedom, the people, the words " _I am not yours anymore",_ well it's something you could get high off of. The whispers that the grass emits does nothing to damper my mood even though people in my situation should be gloomy. 

To be completely honest, I've never felt more elated in my entire life. And I once accidentally published a popular comic strip. This is a feeling that I think I could get used to for a long time.

I go to sit down on the bus stop then rummage through my packed bag and grab some headphones. They're worn and not in the greatest condition but they'll do. My phone buzzes from a pester and I send a quick message back.

gallowsCalibrator [GC] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 5:03 p.m.

GC: H3Y D4V3

TG: sup

TG: it is i dave

I plug the headphones into my phone and him along to the tune on the playlist. One song, another, then the bus stops for the second to last stop and I realize I'm almost there. The music stops and I take that time to put my phone away again, getting up and grabbing my suitcase. My eyes take a onceover at the people left in the bus. None seem to be present besides me and the bus driver. With that, I lug my stuff up down the bus steps and make my way to the nearest place with a heater. It's too cold for this area. It'd be good to wait before re-meeting your ex.

A small bookstore nearby seems like just the place for a not-so-long teenager to loiter around. University students have their eyes glued to the screens of their laptops, a latte or water bottle not too far away from them. Typical. They seemed drained of any energy, the caffeine doing only so much to keep the kids wake. Their expressions, however, seemed that of a person who just sucked a ripe lemon. And had a cut on their lip. I know that feeling all too well. Lemon soda might be carbonated but it still packs a good punch. It's just fizzy.

I order from the built in cafe, this place is too fancy already for my liking but it's either this or the gym next to this so I'll deal with it, and take my seat on a table, enjoying the crunch of the apples in the tart. The people around me start to filter out of the store but the students stay. The free wifi in here doesn't sound bad and the student discount benefits them anyhow so it doesn't seem odd. Better to rack up some other store's prices on service than your own, you know?

In order to be nice, I take a look at the store's actual speciality. Books, of course. 

Their selection seems to range from cheap paperback youtuber novels (hell, they aren't even novels just captions with pretty pictures of their face and a generic cliche saying from their videos) to decent quality manga. A few like me that seem to laze around the quaint shop just let their eyes glaze over titles that they probably won't remember over the course of next week. 

Another nice deed comes out of me and I pretend to look interested in a couple of books that I don't even know the plot to and pluck a thick one from the shelves. I don't even know the genre until a guy at the register side eyes me with a bit of mirth in his mouth at my choice.

"Ina Garten: Cookbook for Valentine's Day?" he finishes helping another customer with their purchase and takes me up. His glasses match his weird lisp and his haircut looks so douchey that it completes his whole ensemble. "It's fall."

I shrug. "Maybe I want to make," I take a glance at the cover for a moment, confused myself, "a banana pie-", I think,"for my date?". Was that a tart or a pie? Whatever, I wasn't even going to try to attempt setting anyone's kitchen on fire. Yet. Maybe for my own enjoyment. But right now that idea lies at the back burner for now. 

"Ok, dude. I'm getting paid and that's all I care about." He swipes your card and hands me a bag with my newly bought bag in tow. After I leave the register at good 15 feet, I swear I could hear a cackle and some one saying something about the item I paid a good $20 for ("Why can't you be like him, Sol?""I'd rather not spend my employee discount on a fucking cookbook.").

After that experience, I grab the rest of my luggage, cram the book somewhere between my underwear and my shirts and head out once again. The cold breeze hits me like a slap, a stark contrast to the nice heat of the bookstore I was just in. Cars come and go from the streets right next to me and hum a bit to keep my mind from the similarities of the whirring of the car and the sounds of a blender. The blender being right next to me and being operated by someone dressed in black with a white smile and,  _oh my god it's the dad blasted crow dude **again.**_

He whistles at me, trying in vain to get my attention to the purple contents in the machine. The whispers crawl up my back and down to my spine sending me unpleasurable shivers to the core. 

_"What you got there, boy?"_

"N-nothing." Curse my nerves. He wasn't going to scare me and he hasn't even tried so my voice shouldn't betray my emotions. He shouldn't see how vulnerable I am. But the mouth never lies. It's always the mind.

_"Correct, Strider."_

I gasp and cover my mouth, staring with scared, wide eyes at the boy who seemed so _like me_ but with wings and an endless stream of mixed up words and knowledge. How can I be surprised at this point? He was part of me so of-fucking-course he can read my mind. Like a fucked up Rose with tangerine orange feathers. The rest of him was covered by shadow and malice, the air around him screamed  _run._ And a person can't run from their mind so I was a captive of my own creation. 

My breathing picks up a bit and so does my heart beat. 'Fuck no, I am not having a panic attack right now in front of him and the pedestrians beside me'.

_"The mouth does not lie, for it is connected to your heart. The brain does. It conceives lies and tricks just to justify a stupid action. But your heart cannot lie to you for that is not it's job. The heart tells truths, the brain muddles them out, and your mouth is just a communication vessel for whatever your brain and heart want to fabricate._

_And I know you can't run. Don't even try to fight me. You know I always have the upperhand."_ My eyebrows knit together in an attempt to glare but he just laughs like I'm trying to tell a joke. 

"Shut up. You don't exist, you bastard, so go home." A few people stare at me to see who I'm talking too, another tries to grab my arm thinking I am in a trance and a couple walk away with whispers about my sanity. It takes some of my left over conscience to not say I'm fine. I know for a fact I was never fine and my own denial was just the mind working it's way again. 

_"Boy, what do you mean go home?_

_You_

_Are_

_My_

_Home."_

It cracks up by itself and hot tears fall on my face as the person dissipates from the scene and I am left to pretend that something just didn't happen. The store register guy comes out with who I assume is the person he was talking too. A few bystanders pat my back, telling me empty promises of strangers. Some ask me where I'm headed. They offer me lifts and the only one I accept is the one coming from the guy from earlier who insulted me. Ironic since now he was dead silent and sent me a face of pity and empathy.

As he drives, I am left swiping liquid off my face for a good ten minutes until we're at the destination, muttering more "I'm fine"s to shut him up. What he experienced was probably a bit scary and awkward but if he wants to assist then I want him to leave me alone. Maybe I'll drop by and thank him. It's the least I can do with the few possessions I have. And judging by the beat up minivan, I don't think he's too keen on the expensive stuff. 

Let's just hope he's there. 

The wheels of my suitcase groan against the friction of the cracked sidewalk and it's own difficulty to get through. The air now is more calming now that _that_ ordeal was finished. My fingers were still numb but it was better than losing my cool in front of complete strangers. All that matters now is that I just get to his house. 

The apartment complex is as run down as I recall it. Bricks chipped, doors dented and a couple of shingles on the roof made terribly just to accommodate the company of others just like it. One reason he bought was not because of the looks but because the rent was fairly cheap and acceptable so he took it. Interior wise it wasn't bad. The place had two bedrooms, a nice bathroom and a cramped kitchen. But he never did a lot of cooking and neither did I so it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 

I knock once. Then twice. After those, I practically pound the doorbell to get his attention from what is probably his nap or movie. Whatever it is it could wait. My shelter and sleep were more important than Will Smith trying to woo another actor in a weird profession of his undying affections. 

A string of muddled curses follows the turning of a knob and i am greeted first with annoyance but then with a dawning realization and back to anger, though it isn't towards me. It's to my guardian who he know's very well. He wears grey sweat pants, a shirt with a miscellaneous romantic comedy star and his signature. His only piece of jewelry is a leather bracelet and a necklace that has a crab in silver with a leather chain. 

"Hey, Karkat. Miss me?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The person at the register was Sollux and the person talking back can be anyone you want so knock yourself out.  
> Don't literally do that though because that'd be fucking stupid.  
> I haven't written because I've been in serious frustration with writing and actually having some ideas about anything so please forgive me.  
> I wish I could say that my other fanfics will be updated during my break but I can't say for sure.  
> Have a Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah!


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